Comparision Dance
by SamCyberCat
Summary: He did not come to a formal dance performance to remember a boy in a wetsuit. Ryo/Fubuki, Ryo/Anzu and former Yami/Anzu.


Notes: For the gx100. Post-GX. And surprisingly not an AU despite the questionable pairing mentioned. As much as I don't want to say it'll make more sense when you read through that really is the case here.

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He didn't even know why he was here. He was into culture, but dance was something he'd not found appealing. He respected it, but that didn't mean he had to have anything to do with it.

He told himself that the poster had caught his eye, that it was about time he started to try and appreciate it, that it would be something to do for the afternoon. He knew those were all lies, but he blocked out the truth of the matter.

As others shuffled to get to their seats, the buzz of conversation filling the air along with the rustles of bags as others reached for their popcorn, Ryo sat staring fixatedly at the stage. His arms were crossed and his expression was grim. It took a lot to impress him and he doubted tonight's performances would do it.

He didn't even know the name of the performers. They usually registered with him but this time the names flew past his eyes as he looked through the programme as being just words.

It took too long for the lights to dim, signalling the show to start, as far as he was concerned. But at least that meant that the talk of the others died down as they waited for the performance to start.

There were a range of different dancers on the stage that night, none of them interested him. He found himself constantly looking down at his programme to see how far they were from the finish, estimating the time in his head as he did.

Most of the dancers were in groups, able to hide the mistakes they made behind other performers. But Ryo noticed the mistakes. They weren't worth his attention. If they made mistakes they shouldn't be on stage. The dancer he knew made no mistakes, and that dancer had not been on stage.

He shook his head lightly. He'd come to forget about that person, and even though they had danced it didn't mean that coming to watch a dance had been out of any sort of fondness to them.

During this time the solo dancer came onto stage. Ryo smirked at this, as at least a solo wouldn't be able to hide their mistakes behind others. He watched with some interest as the girl moved a strand of short, brown hair from her hair, ready to move with the music that had not yet started.

The first thing he noticed was the confident way she held herself. The others had all been nervous little things, but she was an adult and she knew where she stood on a stage.

He'd been like that too, the other boy that Ryo knew. He walked onto the floor as if he owned the room, standing firmly on his feet, with the knowledge that he could make no mistakes.

No. Ryo was not watching Fubuki now. He was watching this girl, no - this woman, as she pulled herself into the dance.

The movements were slow at first, she knew how to control a crowd by drawing them in with a steady start then working them up over the course of the performance. Not like these amateurs who ran on the stage at full speed, only to lose energy part way through.

For the first time that night Ryo found he wasn't glancing to see what the next performance would be. He watched the woman intently. The lighting did her no justice at all. The spotlight somehow seemed dull as it shone on her body.

There were dull lights back then too, but that wasn't due to any stage management. Chronos had a lights-out schedule, and he was strict to it. So a lamp had been put in the room that emitted a dimmed glow when touched. Fubuki always dimmed the lamp at night so he could carry on dancing without notice, even after the lights-out.

This was not good. The stage this dance was being held at had cost a fortune, and he was sure that even though they did the woman no justice the lights had been expensive to install and he should not compare them to a sidelight in a student's room. So he focused on her once, paying attention to her and not the surroundings.

This didn't help much. His attention was drawn to the legs, as this was one of the most important elements to dance as far as his limited knowledge of it was aware. She was wearing shorts that hugged her thighs, the peach skin of her legs revealed. Their movements captivated him and he knew that while seeing beauty such as this he could not possibly think of Fubuki.

Fubuki held no charm like that. One night he even returned to the room still wearing the wetsuit he went surfing in, also in short that it didn't cover his knees. And he started to dance while still wearing it. What charm did that hold? He moved around the room in the complicated way that he did, somehow managing to keep his balance in spite of the water dripping around his feet. He managed to not slip once, and Ryo had to admit that at least had some grace.

Nothing compared to her though. She wasn't covering the furniture with the remnants of water from the day's surfing as she spun around.

Though, he had to admit, she had nothing when it came to comparing her waist with Fubuki's hips. He smirked as she twirled around, remembering with some amusement the dances Fubuki came up with on his own. The boy seemed to believe you could create a whole routine solely by shaking your ass around. And in some odd way, he'd done it. No one could shake a behind like he could, not even the lady on stage. Though she wasn't to know who she was being compared to.

Taking his gaze away from the movement of her hips he was drawn instead to her arms. The movement of these were even elegant. He had to admit that he hadn't put much thought into the use of arms in dancing. But she was making him consider just how important they were. How they directed the eyes in a way that complimented the movement of the rest of the body.

He felt a knot in his throat. So he had considered it before, even if he possibly didn't consciously acknowledge it. Fubuki knew where his hands were going during the dances. Fubuki was good with his hands. Too good…

Even when he woke up one night to find those hands trailing across his face he couldn't bring himself to stop Fubuki. He could not reject Fubuki. And the boy had touched him with the same passion he put into the dances he performed.

It should nauseate him now more than it did to look back on those memories. And the lead weight of shame fell down on him that something so lacking in purity crossed his mind while watching such an innocent dance.

Or was it as innocent as it should have been? His eyes took in her face for the first time. She didn't hold the naïve expression of the innocent. He face was harsh, both from the lines of her cheeks to the firm set of her mouth. She was not smiling. It was clear that she was doing what she loved but she still was not smiling. The reason behind this, the probable reason, was no mystery to him. He knew the remnants of a former love when he saw them. He'd seen the face too often before to not know that the thought of doing what you loved was always tainted by the sting of knowing the one you loved was not there with you.

He hadn't considered that his own face was in the same expression as hers. He wasn't to know.

He was so distracted that he didn't even notice that the dance had stopped until she lent down to take a bow.

This jolt back to reality was again interrupted by her eyes looking through the audience. For a moment they rested on him. For that moment their stories told themselves to each other, in a nameless way.

Her eyes were nothing like his - but when he saw those eyes they instantly made him think of Fubuki. Her blue eyes shimmered over him, they were the eyes of a sad person. A person who was not loved. And he knew that she was searching the audience for someone who could not be there. Someone who should have been watching her dance but didn't even know how much she wanted them to watch it.

When had he started crying?

The matter was settled. There was someone who he should have been watching dance but wasn't. And unlike the poor figure on the stage it was not too late for him. He could find Fubuki and demand him to dance if he had to.

But first he looked down at the programme held in his hand.

So that was who she was.

He thanked Anzu Mazaki, for showing him that love should not be foolishly lost.


End file.
